Choice
by MagickBeing
Summary: Draco Malfoy arrives at St. Mungos, beaten and broken by his father. And finally, finally, Draco makes a choice—for what other choice did he have? WARNING: Mentions of abuse. Hints of slash. Dedicated to Malou. Without her, this could not have been written.


**A/N:** For Malou. It might not make sense, but so little of their relationship does.

**Choice****  
**by MagickBeing

Draco Malfoy opened his eyes with a bit of a groan, turning fitfully in his bed. Everything was white, too white, and his entire body screamed in protest. He grimaced, his hand fluttering over his abdomen. His skin touched the soft gauze as he looked around, taking in his surroundings. There were several white beds on either side of him, some of which had curtains drawn. His had been recently opened, he noted, if the gentle swaying of the fabric was a clue. On the opposing wall, there were shelves upon shelves of medical supplies: fresh bandages, clean sheets, syringes, and locked cabinet upon cabinet of potions.

He was in St. Mungo's, then.

He was careful to keep his face expressionless as rolled over again, his back burning nearly as much as his abdomen. A few broken ribs, he imagined, flexing his muscles slowly, gradually against the pain. He locked his jaw so that he didn't flinch. A few broken ribs, various scrapes and bruises, and a broken left hand. His shoulder had been fractured as well, but it had been freshly mended and felt glorious compared to the rest of his body. His hand was in some sort of contraption—he touched it gently with his other, fingering the hard bandage around his skin. It made it impossible for him to flex his fingers or attempt to move.

"It's a cast," came a voice, rough and familiar. Draco's eyes flicked up, meeting Harry Potter's gaze with an even one of his own. He could see the curiosity and pity written across the ex-Gryffindor's face. His own face twisted into a sneer and he eyed the dark-haired man carefully, making note of his attire and the badge that declared "STAFF". There was something written underneath it, but he couldn't quite read it from where he laid.

Harry edged closer, wrapping his arms carefully around himself.

"It's a muggle invention. The serum is taking too long; your hand was shattered, almost beyond repair." Harry kept his eyes locked on Malfoy's. "You're lucky someone found you when they did."

Draco visibly scoffed, the night before coming back to him in pieces. These wounds were no doubt caused by another of his father's 'training lessons'. That's what Lucius liked to call the nights he beat the senses out of his only son. Somehow, he had apparated off of the grounds, shortly after his father had left him to clean his own wounds. Unable to move very far, he had collapsed in a street in Diagon Alley. Disgust washed across him—how could he have left? His father would be furious. His pride shrank against his ribs, beaten and broken. How dare he let another see him like this? Their family problems were just that—family problems.

Draco looked away, lips pursed.

Harry moved closer, standing directly in front of him, and Draco's eyes flicked up to his badge again.

Head Healer, then.

Perfect.

Bloody perfect.

Harry reached out to touch the side of Draco's face and he pulled back, his ribs screaming at him, and he groaned against his will. Harry gave him the tiniest of smiles, slightly amused, and said, "Let me help you, Malfoy. Stop fighting—it will only make it worse."

Draco exhaled sharply, his father's voice echoing in his head.

_Stop fighting, it will only make it worse, _sneered Lucius, his wand ready. Draco practically deflated against the bed, glaring up at Harry with what little strength he could muster.

Harry's smile softened, sad now, and his fingers brushed against Draco's hairline, tending a wound with delicate precision.

His eyes moved back to Draco's.

"Do you trust me?"

Draco scoffed again. Why would Harry ask such a thing? They had never been on very good terms—never, not even after the raven-haired boy had saved him from the fire. His parents sentences had been lessened, of course, after the Ministry weighed their roles and cooperation. Lucius had still been sentenced to Azkaban, but he had managed to escape, abducting Draco and his mother and taking them to an abandoned mansion off of Iceland's northern shore. He peered up at Harry, disgusted with himself for even considering the question, but before he could bite his tongue, the word escaped, quiet and defeated.

"Yes."

What choice did he have?

Harry sighed, his eyes bright.

"Good," he said quietly and with a bit of a nod. His touch became firmer and Draco resisted the urge to lean into it. It was so unlike any he had encountered—Harry's fingers were rough, but somehow soft, and his touch was firm but gentle. It made Draco's heart quicken and some of his disgust melt. It was reassuring and caring and _there, _always there, as Harry worked his way across Draco's body, checking various wounds and muttering incantations to heal the lesser ones. He could feel Harry's magic weave itself into his own, healing wounds that neither man could see but were there nonetheless. Draco's eyes slipped shut and, despite himself, he smiled.

Harry returned the smile, his hands working against Draco's ribs and gently, gracefully unfolding his bandages.

Draco opened his eyes, curiosity getting the better of him, and frowned at the bruises littering his abdomen. Some were an ugly greenish yellow, lines of red cutting through them to show blood vessels that had burst. There were white lines cutting through the bruises, too, scars that had already been mended but had never disappeared.

His eyes moved to Harry's face. Harry's brow was wrinkled, his eyes sad, but there were still the traces of a smile, sad but present, and Harry looked up, their eyes catching.

Draco felt disgusted with himself and shifted slightly, withdrawing again, eyes dropping, and then Harry reached up, cupping the side of his face with one hand. Draco's breath caught and he met Harry's eyes again.

"You're beautiful," Harry muttered, his smile widening. Draco swallowed and finally, finally gave in, leaning into his touch.

After all, what choice did he have?


End file.
